Moments of Clarity
by Elf Alpha
Summary: In Harry's 6th Year, a series of coincidental events leads to a newfound understanding of his longtime rivalry with Draco Malfoy. SLASH: HPDM
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** My first fan fic! It is only fitting that it be Harry/Draco as this is my favorite pairing ever! Hope you enjoy, and please review!

**A/N #2:** Written without beta. All successes and failures are mine and mine alone.

**Note: **Setting is 6th year. Follows canon through OOTP. Not HBP or DH compatible. Could be seen as OOC, though I prefer to think not. :-)

**Warning: **Slash to follow. Some guys like guys, cause that's my world. Don't read it if you don't wanna read it.

Disclaimer: All characters and locales are based on and/or inspired by the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the above. But you already knew that. No profit or remuneration is sought or earned in this venture, only idle amusement. I thank you.

* * *

**MOMENTS OF CLARITY**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

Harry Potter sighed.

Of all the places to be stuck on a beautiful September afternoon, here he was: stranded for two hours in double Potions. With the Slytherins, of course. Not to mention Snape. He had thought that he was going to get out of it this year; his potions score on O.W.L. had only been an "E," which normally wouldn't have qualified him. But after the insistence of both McGonagall and Dumbledore, and given the growing threat of Voldemort, Snape had been forced to admit students with lower marks—even if they didn't want to take the class. Harry sighed again.

"Today, you will be brewing a Draught of Clarity," Snape said. "Who—other than Miss Granger—can tell me the effects of this potion?" Hermione defiantly held her hand high, ignoring his remark. No one else seemed willing to volunteer.

"Very well," Snape said. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't miss a beat. "The Draught of Clarity will bring the drinker a state of mental tranquility, much like deep meditation. In this state, it is possible to remember things long forgotten, or to make discoveries or connections that might otherwise be elusive. It cannot provide the drinker with _new_ knowledge, only with the means to explore existing knowledge in a new, more accurate light. In other words," (here she stopped sounding like a talking book) "it clears your mind."

Snape glared at her as if her thorough explanation were a personal affront, but gave a brusque nod of confirmation. Then he spun around, waved his wand, and the directions for the potion appeared on the blackboard. His verbal instructions were equally terse: "Begin."

Harry pulled out his potion book and started studying the finer points of the procedure, while beside him, Ron started mashing up pixie wings. They worked together in relative silence for several minutes—although Ron was doing most of the work, as Harry just couldn't get his heart into it at the moment, and kept daydreaming about being… well, anyplace but here.

Beside him, Ron burst into a fit of hacking coughs as a pungent cloud of violet smoke erupted from their shared cauldron.

"Little help here, Harry?"

Harry picked up his potions book and fanned the air over the cauldron, blowing the smoke out of their faces and across the room. He winced as he noticed Snape bearing down on them through the dissipating cloud, a distinctive scowl on his face. Upon reaching their table, the greasy-haired potions master stole a quick glance at the contents of the cauldron, then met Harry's eyes with a nasty glare.

"What's this, Mr. Potter?"

Harry provided a sarcastic smile. "I believe it's a Draught of Clarity, Professor. Or I should say, the start of one." Snape narrowed his eyes but said nothing, and Harry added: "According to the textbook, that cloud of purple smoke means that the infusion of salamander skin was successful."

"I know what the smoke means, Mr. Potter," Snape spat. "But I am curious how the two of you—who are possessed of unparalleled ineptitude—have managed to be the _first_ pairing to achieve a successful infusion of salamander skin on this occasion."

Harry returned his glare. "I guess we just had a moment of _clarity_, Professor." Beside him, Ron snorted a laugh.

Harry knew that he had probably crossed the line, and braced himself for Snape's punishment, but to Harry's surprise and relief, it never came. Instead, Snape merely narrowed his eyes even further, and he turned on his heel without another word and headed for Neville Longbottom's table, where he would be sure to have more success with his derisive bullying.

Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, then turned to face Hermione, who looked surprised and impressed, and mouthed: "Well done," just before her own cauldron erupted into a haze of violet smoke as well. Beside her, Draco Malfoy went into a fit of coughs even worse than Ron's had been.

"Glass of water, Malfoy?" Ron asked with mock politeness. In return, he received a contemptuous sneer from Malfoy, but its effect was totally ruined by the uncontrollable coughing that still seized the Slytherin boy. Harry had to look away to keep himself from bursting into laughter, and even Hermione wore a slight smirk as she fanned away the fumes.

When he had finally stopped coughing, Malfoy muttered, "Bloody potion," his face beet red.

Harry smiled privately. Perhaps the afternoon wasn't a _complete_ loss.

* * *

As they sat down at the Gryffindor table in the great hall for dinner that evening, Hermione smiled broadly and said, "Isn't it just great to be back? How exciting to be taking N.E.W.T. level classes this year!"

Harry and Ron shared a glance, clearly thinking along the same lines.

"Well, I'm excited, anyway," Hermione said defensively. "And our first day went really well. Even Potions." She turned to Harry with a serious look and said, "I'm quite impressed, you know, Harry. How on earth did you manage to brew the Draught of Clarity so quickly? It's a really complex potion!" Harry thought he detected just the slightest hint of resentment in her tone, but he decided to ignore it.

"And what makes you think that Harry did it?" Ron asked before Harry could reply.

Hermione blinked, and turned to Ron. "Well, I—"

"I really didn't do anything," Harry said truthfully, interrupting before Hermione could say anything she might regret. "Whatever happened, it's Ron that pulled it off. I was barely paying attention at all." Hermione looked stunned.

"Really?" she said, trying to cover up her surprise. "That's wonderful, Ron!" After noticing Ron's skeptical expression, she added: "Well, if you're going to be showing me up in potions, perhaps I'd better start studying with you and catch up." She smiled, and Ron blushed. Harry rolled his eyes. Not this again.

With a loud and pointed cough, Harry said, "_So_… Quidditch tryouts this weekend. Ron, you're still going to play keeper, right?"

"We'll see," Ron said, looking depressed. "Last year was a bloody disaster, wasn't it?"

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione. "You _know_ you're a great keeper. Look at what happened the last game. You were amazing!"

"You would know," Ron replied bitterly. Hermione seemed to shrink.

"We told you why we weren't there, Ron," she said sheepishly. "Hagrid—"

"Yeah," said Ron. "Well, that was my only decent game. What about the rest of the season? I couldn't block the quaffle to save my life. The team would have been better off without me."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ron," said Harry. "I thought we'd got past all this."

"Yeah, well… I guess not." Ron looked down at his plate dejectedly. The threesome sat in awkward silence for a few moments.

"You know, if you guys don't mind… I'd like to be alone a bit," Ron said, standing. He turned and walked away, and Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances.

"What the hell?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, this is just silly," she said, standing and drawing her wand. Pointing it at Ron's retreating back as he made his way through the large double doors to the entrance hall, she said, "_Affer laetitium_," and made a flick of the wrist. But Ron kept walking, undeterred, shoving past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were just entering the great hall.

Hermione made an indistinct noise and quickly hid her wand in her robes.

"I _missed_," she hissed.

"Apparently," said Harry, amused. "Guess you'll have to think of something else besides a cheering charm this time."

"Yes, well…" She gathered up her bags and made to leave. "I'm going to go talk to him. Coming?"

"We've only just started eating," Harry protested.

"I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. We'll be back here in no time, as soon as Ron decides that hunger is more pressing than self-pity."

"You're right," said Harry, standing to join her. "I give him fifteen minutes."

* * *

Fortunately, Hermione was right. The two of them found Ron, cheered him up (Harry suspected that Hermione might have slipped a cheering charm in there somewhere), and coaxed him back down to the great hall in time for dessert. By the time they had each eaten three helpings of pudding, things had returned to normal.

Afterwards, Hermione suggested that they all go to the library to work on homework. Much to Harry's surprise, Ron agreed. This mystery was quickly solved, however, when Harry caught the look in Ron's eye as he listened to Hermione. The prospect of sitting through another evening of awkward almost-flirtation did not appeal to Harry, and he begged off, saying (truthfully) that he thought he'd get more work done in the common room. Thus parting ways with his friends, Harry headed back to Gryffindor tower.

The common room was comparatively quiet, probably because of the absence of Fred and George Weasley this year. A few students were scattered around the room, mostly playing games of chess or exploding snap. Harry, however, being a sixth year student, and taking N.E.W.T.-level classes, had more pressing things on his mind; even though it was only the first day back, he already had mountains of homework. He flopped into an armchair and ran his fingers through his mess of hair, trying to decide what he should work on first.

In the end, he settled on writing an essay for Transfiguration, exploring the ethical concerns of botched or unresolved animal transfigurations. Strangely enough, he found the topic marginally interesting, and had made a good start into the body of the essay before he was interrupted by a pair of irritating, eager voices.

"Heya, Harry!"

Harry looked up. "Hi, Colin. Hi, Dennis," he replied unenthusiastically.

"Want to see Colin's pictures from our holiday in Italy?" Dennis asked. "He's got some great pictures of American muggles in the funniest clothes, and of course we _had_ to see the leaning tower, since Pergini the Pompous used it as his observatory, but the best thing was—"

"Oh! Dennis," Colin said, "tell him about that Medici mansion in Florence where the ghoulish uprising took place in 1539, and how they think it's still haunted, since—"

"Oh yeah! That was the _coolest!_ But don't forget the Roman catacombs, where the great dark lord Carnius buried his victims alive, and they went crazy keeping themselves alive with magic… Here, Harry, you've just _got_ to see these!" Dennis said, holding out a photo album.

Harry had to think quickly. "Actually… I was just thinking I needed to go see Professor Snape about my potions essay," he lied. At the word "Snape," both Creevey brothers' eyes went wide.

"Oh, Snape," said Colin, looking fearful. "Well, I guess we can show you the photos later…"

"Yeah," Dennis agreed. "We'll… just go show them to Neville first. See you later, Harry."

As they crossed the common room to where Neville was studying, Harry felt a slight pang of guilt, but he just wasn't in the mood for his two most enthusiastic fans at the moment. He packed up his things and, in keeping with his excuse, headed out into the hall as if he intended to go to Snape's office.

Of course, he had no such intention and, once out of the Gryffindor common room, he decided to just wander the halls and stretch his legs for a bit, rather than join Ron and Hermione in the library. He found that he had limited patience for their quasi-flirtation, since he'd been dealing with it for several weeks already at the Burrow.

As Harry turned down a lesser-used corridor on the fourth floor, he nearly collided with someone walking in the opposite direction.

"Sorry," he said automatically, and then registered who it was. "Oh, it's you, Malfoy."

"Potter," Malfoy replied. To Harry's surprise, the expected snide remark never came; instead, Malfoy just stood there, looking at Harry with a curious, detached expression that was uncannily reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. They stood facing each other in silence for several moments.

Finally, feeling awkward at the prolonged eye contact, Harry cleared his throat and said: "Well, are you just going to stand there staring at me all night, or are you going to let me pass?"

Harry's voice seemed to wake Malfoy from his daze, although he still wore the same imperturbable expression. "Question, Potter."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"_What?_ What are you on about, Malfoy?"

"Just tell me, Potter."

"I don't know. Silver?"

"Ooh, really? Good answer."

"Why is that—"

"You know, I've just discovered that _my_ favorite color is green."

"Well, imagine that," Harry said. "One of the Slytherin colors."

Malfoy tilted his head thoughtfully. "Yeah, that too."

Harry blinked again. "Right…" he said slowly.

"Funny, Potter," Malfoy added with a smile. "Silver is a Slytherin color as well."

"Yeah, well…" Harry frowned. "That's not the reason."

"That's good," Malfoy said. "It'd be a shame to think you'd been sorted into the wrong house, after all." Harry felt a blush rise in his cheeks; Malfoy had touched on a sensitive point.

"Is there a reason we're talking about this?" Harry asked impatiently. "Or is this just your newest idea of how to bother me?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Just curious."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but found that he didn't know what to say.

"Lose your train of thought, Potter?"

"Apparently."

"Happens. Especially when you've got too much on your mind." He chuckled as if he'd said something funny.

"Er… I guess so."

"It's true," Malfoy said, looking thoughtful. "I suppose you _must_ have a lot on your mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if I were you, I think I'd be worried about the Dark Lord's plans for me."

Harry bristled. "Is that meant to be a threat, Malfoy?"

"Just an observation."

"Well, for your information, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"No doubt."

"Good," Harry said, feeling a bit off-center at Malfoy's uncharacteristically… civil behavior. The latter simply stood before him, wearing an odd, satisfied expression. Harry stared. He had never realized that Malfoy could look so… pleasant. In fact—

He recoiled at the thought. _Pleasant? Malfoy??_ He'd almost forgotten who he was dealing with: the son of a Death Eater and a pureblood fanatic… Harry recovered his wits, and said: "You know what? I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're nothing but a Death Eater wannabe—or maybe you _are_ one already. Tell me, Malfoy, if I were to look at your left arm, what would I see?"

Malfoy paused for a moment, meeting Harry's eyes with an unreadable expression. Then he flashed a malevolent grin.

"Was _this_ what you wanted to see, Potter?" he said, ripping back his sleeve. Harry let out an involuntary gasp as Malfoy turned up his left forearm to Harry's view, revealing… an unmarked and flawless stretch of pale skin. Malfoy laughed.

"Priceless, Potter. You really thought I had the Dark Mark, didn't you?" Harry just swallowed nervously.

"Although…" Malfoy continued. "You probably shouldn't count on _all_ of your enemies having conspicuous tattoos."

"And was _that_ meant to be a threat?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Do you really think I want to kill you, Potter?"

"Well, I—"

"Sooner or later, you're going to learn the difference between _rivals _and_ real_ enemies. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it a long time ago." Harry found himself once again without words, and Malfoy resumed staring at him with the same detached Luna-smile.

"You know," said Malfoy, sounding thoughtful, "I used to think silver was my favorite color, too. But I've changed my mind." Harry shook his head, sure that he'd misheard.

"What the hell, Malfoy? We're back on this again?"

"I guess I have a one-track mind."

"_Colors?_" Harry asked, incredulous. "What are you, _four_?"

"No. But I am finding it hard to think about anything else, for the moment."

"Colors."

"Not really."

"Then what on earth _are_ you talking about?"

Malfoy smirked. "Hmm… I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Why not?"

"Well, I wouldn't have believed me myself, until about five minutes ago."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Is it? Then I suppose I'd better go, before one of us says something we'd regret." With this, Malfoy gave an odd sort of half-smile, and then walked past Harry and headed down the corridor. With a final little laugh, he turned the corner and disappeared, leaving Harry standing utterly bewildered and staring stupidly down the empty hall.

* * *

**And...** that's it for Chapter 1! I know there's a lot of exposition/setup, but what's a first chapter for?

**Reviews! Please and thank you. :-)**

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All characters and locales are based on and/or inspired by the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the above. But you already knew that. No profit or remuneration is sought or earned in this venture, only idle amusement. I thank you.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

"Harry, where were you last night? We were worried." Hermione sat down across the breakfast table from Harry, frowning.

"I was just… thinking," Harry replied, deciding not to relate his bizarre encounter with Malfoy—nor the fact that he had spent the next several hours alone in an empty classroom, going over the scene repeatedly in his mind. Not that it had helped; he had ended up concluding that Malfoy was just trying to mess with his head.

"Well anyway, Harry," Hermione continued, "I hope you got some homework done. The Potions essay is especially hard, isn't it, Ron?"

"I dunno," Ron said with a sly grin. "I think I'm getting the hang of this Potions business after all." He picked up a scone and took a very deliberate bite.

Hermione shot him a doubtful look, but her eyes were smiling. "Well, in any case, we finished that essay and started in on Transfigurations. You _did_ get some work done last night, didn't you?"

Harry gave in and admitted that he'd only gotten halfway through the Transfiguration essay before he had been accosted by the Creevey brothers. Ron commiserated, but Hermione looked stern.

"And that's _all_ you got done last night?" she said. Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Well, it's going to catch up to you," Hermione scolded. "These are N.E.W.T. level classes, Harry, and you _have_ to—"

"I _know_, Hermione," Harry said. "Trust me, I can handle it." There was just enough of a warning edge to his tone that Hermione dropped the point.

After a few minutes of awkward silence—interspersed with the occasional disapproving glare from Hermione—the tension was broken by the arrival of the morning mail. Harry watched as a news owl swooped down and dropped off Hermione's copy of the _Daily Prophet_, receiving its payment in return before flying away. There were no other letters for the three of them, and Hermione dove right into the headlines for the day while the two boys continued to eat.

"Nothing," she said, finally. "Not a peep of anything unusual, no disappearances or anything."

"Well, that's good," Ron said.

"It's strange," Harry reflected, "Voldemort—" Ron winced at the name—"has been awfully quiet lately. Not a word in the papers, and not even a tickle in my scar since June." He ran his fingers over his forehead thoughtfully. "Too bad I can't see what he's up to anymore."

"Harry! Don't even think such a thing," Hermione scolded.

Harry shrugged. "It's not like it's pleasant, of course. But don't forget, I saw the attack on Ron's dad…"

"Thank goodness," Ron said.

"And Dumbledore said that Voldemort can't stand to possess me, because I'm too full of emotions." Ron snorted; Harry continued, ignoring him. "So all I'm saying is that it _can_ be useful, at times. Certainly it's more informative than the _Prophet_."

"And I just think you should be careful, Harry. Don't go _inviting_ that kind of connection, no matter how useful it is. It's still very dangerous." Then without so much as a pause for breath, she stood up and grabbed her bag. "Now. _I_ am going to the library before Charms to check out a few books. Coming?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who was wearing the same expression he had when offered some of Hagrid's cooking. But before Hermione had the chance to remark on this, Ron stood up and said with a sigh, "All right then. Come on, Harry."

"Might as well get it over with, eh Ron?" Harry replied with a wink, grabbing his bag as well.

The two boys followed in Hermione's wake as she made her way out of the great hall, but as they were leaving, Harry felt eyes on him and glanced instinctively at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, there was Malfoy with the same smirk as always, but as Harry caught his eye, he grinned, inclined his head ever so slightly, and raised his mug in a sort of a mock-toast. Harry shook his head. _I hate it when Malfoy messes with my mind_.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, although Harry got the distinct impression that—despite working very hard to catch up during his free periods and lunch—he ended the day with significantly more homework than he'd had when it started. At first, Hermione seemed to have a permanent "what-did-I-tell-you?" expression pasted on her face, but she lightened up when she saw how hard Harry was working.

After dinner with his two friends (which involved far too many awkward pauses and nervous blushes for Harry's taste), he decided to excuse himself to the library to finish working on his Transfiguration essay. Fortunately, Hermione took the hint and studied with Ron in the common room, relieving Harry of the necessity to watch their continued adolescent antics.

Three hours later, Harry had finished the essay and made a good start into some research for Charms (he was still putting off the Potions essay for as long as possible). As he read through a passage about superstitious charms intended to ward off death, Harry thought bitterly about how pointless they would be. Even in his short life, he'd been plagued by the deaths of so many people close to him, and no charm could have prevented any of it…

At this thought, the image of Sirius falling backwards into the veil of death in the Department of Mysteries suddenly surged into Harry's mind, unbidden. He clamped his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry and trying to force away his feelings of guilt for allowing Voldemort to trick him. If he had just left well enough alone…

"Something wrong, Potter?"

Harry groaned. Not again. Doing his best to pull himself together, he released his head and looked up at Malfoy.

"None of your business, Malfoy. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Now that you mention it… no." He smirked (Harry was beginning to wonder if he had any other expressions in his repertoire) and sat down opposite Harry at the library table. Harry sighed in exasperation.

"Look Malfoy, I don't know what you're up to, messing with my mind or whatever. And obviously it's working, so I guess you win. I'm just not in the mood to fight back. So if you wouldn't mind… I'd really appreciate it if you just left me alone. Okay?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Fair enough, Potter. Maybe some other time." And to Harry's amazement, he stood and walked away.

This unfathomable shift in Malfoy's behavior left Harry both speechless and intensely curious, and before he knew it, he found himself jogging to catch up with Malfoy in the hall outside the library.

"What was that about?" he asked as he caught up. "You're not acting like the old, obnoxious Malfoy I'm used to."

"Funny," said Malfoy, turning to face Harry with one eyebrow raised. "You're acting exactly like the old, predictable Potter I'm used to."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well… you're here, aren't you?"

Harry took a moment to process this comment, before saying: "You mean, you knew I would follow you out of the library." Malfoy merely shrugged.

"Whatever," Harry said. "So did you have a reason you wanted to talk to me, or not?"

"What would you say if I asked you why you like silver?"

"Malfoy…"

The blond boy laughed. "Sorry, Potter. Couldn't resist."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Git."

Malfoy ignored this. "So, I'll bet you think I was acting a little strange last night."

It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "A little?"

"All right, _very_ strange. Well, I've come to the conclusion that I've been under the influence of a cheering charm. I don't suppose you would know anything about that."

Harry's mind jumped back to the previous night, and Hermione's misdirected charm—and remembered Ron pushing past Malfoy and his cronies as he left the hall…

"I thought as much," Malfoy said, reading Harry's expression of dawning comprehension.

"Look Malfoy, it wasn't meant for you…"

"Of course it wasn't. Since when have you or your little fan club ever purposely hexed me with a _cheering_ charm?" He laughed. "Incidentally, I think Granger might have been a bit over-enthusiastic with her casting."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think it's completely worn off yet," Malfoy replied. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Then why are you bringing this up at all?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you thinking that I've gone off my head or something."

"And since when do you care what I think?" Harry asked.

Malfoy laughed. "I _always_ care what people think of me. I thought you'd noticed."

"And I thought _you'd_ noticed that we've _always_ hated each other," Harry retorted.

"If you say so," Malfoy replied. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hitched the usual smirk back onto his face, and headed off down the hall.

Once again, Harry was left speechless, staring after Malfoy as he walked away. He shook his head. _I swear I'm never going to figure him out._

* * *

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room that night, he found Ron and Hermione in the middle of a noisy row.

"So you thought I'd be better off being _charmed_ to be happy?" Ron shouted.

"Well, you were feeling sorry for yourself, and I just—"

"Oh, I see. Never mind trying to _talk_ to me, just a quick spell and everything's fine."

"I _did_ talk to you!" Hermione shouted back. "Or don't you remember?"

"Yeah, _after_ you tried to trick me with your clever little charm."

"But I _missed!_ And then I realized that it wasn't the right way of going about it anyway, and so I came to talk to you…"

"Only because you missed! Otherwise, you would have just—"

Harry decided it was time for him to cut in and avert further damage. "Hey, you know, I found out something about that." Both Ron and Hermione spun to face him, having been oblivious to his arrival. "Apparently you didn't just _miss_ Ron, you _hit_ someone else instead." Harry grinned.

"She did?" Ron asked, looking curious.

"I did?" asked Hermione simultaneously, looking horrified. Harry nodded.

Together, Ron and Hermione asked: "Who?"

Harry's grin widened. "Malfoy."

Ron laughed. "Malfoy? Under a _cheering_ charm? Oh, what I would have paid to see that!"

"I did see it," Harry said. "It was kinda—" he forced the word "cute" (_where the _hell _did that come from?_) from his mind—"er… creepy, to be honest."

Hermione released a sigh, looking relieved. "Well, at least it was Malfoy. It's better than he deserves." Then she furrowed her brow. "Out of curiosity, Harry, how do you know it wasn't someone else's spell?"

"Hmm?" Harry said, still trying to recover from the traitorous thought that had invaded his head. "Sorry, I missed that."

"I said, how do you know that Malfoy got hit by _my _spell, and not someone else's?"

"Well, he _was_ coming through the doorway into the great hall at the time," Harry explained, recovering his wits. "Remember?"

Hermione thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Just as long as he doesn't realize what happened, or who did it."

Harry grimaced. "He does."

"He does?" Hermione repeated. "Oh, just what I need… Now he'll probably get me into trouble for an 'unprovoked attack' or something, when I was only trying to—" She stopped herself short, and looked nervously at Ron, who seemed torn between anger at Hermione's intended target and mirth at the actual outcome. Harry broke the tension again.

"Incidentally, Hermoine, I think you must have underestimated yourself. The charm still hasn't completely worn off."

Hermione looked doubtful. "No, no. That's impossible, Harry. The cheering charm—well, most mind-affecting charms, for that matter—can only last a few hours, at most. It's been more than a day."

"I don't know," Harry said doubtfully, "I just bumped into Malfoy, and he's certainly acting… weird."

She shook her head. "It must be something else. A cheering charm could never last that long, unless—"

"What if he drank the Draught of Clarity?" Ron said suddenly. Hermione blinked, and then her eyes widened.

"You're right, Ron!" she exclaimed. "Very clever." Ron blushed.

"What are you two talking about?" Harry asked.

Hermione gave him a reproving look. "If you'd done your Potions homework, you might understand." Harry rolled his eyes.

She continued: "The Draught of Clarity has some pretty serious side-effects and risks associated with it. For one thing, it's hard to control exactly _what_ your mind sorts out when it's so clear and receptive. It's easy to end up confronting things about yourself that you've tried hard to suppress or deny—and under the influence of the potion, you can only see them in their true light."

Harry was confused. "That doesn't have anything to do with cheering charms," he said.

"Sorry, I'm getting there. The other major danger associated with the Draught of Clarity, is that it makes you significantly more susceptible to mind-affecting spells and charms."

"Like cheering charms," Ron supplied.

"Exactly. So it _would_ be possible that, if Malfoy had drunk a Draught of Clarity before getting hit by the cheering charm, it might have been more potent and longer-lasting than usual."

"And we had just finished brewing that very potion in class before it happened…" Harry said.

"If the spell still hasn't worn off, then that _must_ be what happened," Hermione said conclusively. Then, with slightly more hesitation: "I'm sure that there's no _permanent_ harm done, even if he _was_ more susceptible…"

Ron snorted. "Don't forget who you're talking about, Hermione. In his case, _any_ change would be an improvement." They all laughed.

"So, Harry," said Hermione. "Going to join us for a bit more studying?"

"I guess I probably _should_ work on that Potions essay," Harry admitted. "Besides, it sounds like Ron might be able to give me a bit of a hand with it."

"I dunno, mate," Ron said, tilting his head towards Hermione. "She might start to get jealous."

She gave him a playful shove. "Oh, Ronald Weasley. _Some _times…"

* * *

That night, Harry tossed and turned in bed, his thoughts plagued by a certain blond-haired rival and his strange, potion-and-charm-induced behavior. He couldn't help thinking that he didn't mind this new Malfoy _quite_ so much; even if it was a little unnerving, it was better than the constant insults and jeering. Too bad it wouldn't last.

He rolled over again and tried to think about something—anything—else, so that he might finally get some sleep.

It didn't really work.

* * *

**AND**... that's it for Chapter 2. I doubt I'll be able to keep up this update pace! But we'll see. :-)

**Comments, pretty please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to the people who have reviewed! It makes me feel so much better knowing that at least a few people out there are actually enjoying this adventure, since it's my first time out. Please keep the comments coming!

Disclaimer: All characters and locales are based on and/or inspired by the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the above. But you already knew that. No profit or remuneration is sought or earned in this venture, only idle amusement. I thank you.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

Harry arrived at breakfast earlier than usual the following morning, mostly because he'd eventually gotten tired of lying in bed half-awake. None of his usual breakfast companions had arrived yet, so he chose to sit across from the only classmate who was already there: Seamus.

Their conversation was slightly awkward. For one thing, Harry couldn't remember if he had _ever_ had an extended one-on-one conversation with Seamus in his life. For another, Seamus had "come out" over the summer—a revelation which surprised no one, but which meant that their conversation was frequently disrupted by Seamus's appreciative remarks as certain boys walked into the great hall.

"Harry, you're pretty quiet this morning," Seamus commented.

"Long night," Harry admitted. "For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about—"

"Draco Malfoy," Seamus said, sighing. "Now, _he's_ hot."

Harry's eyes went wide. "What? How did—?" he started, but caught himself when he saw that Seamus's attention was once again focused on the entry doors. Harry spun around to face Malfoy, who had just entered, flanked by his oversized thugs. Malfoy met Harry's eyes and gave a short nod of acknowledgement, before heading off to the Slytherin table. Harry stared. _Does he _know_ how much he's messing with my mind?_

When he turned back to face Seamus, the latter was still staring over Harry's shoulder at the retreating blond.

"You really think he's hot?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"Do I—?" Harry stammered, then quickly said: "He's a total jerk, Seamus."

"Yeah, too bad," the other agreed. "Even so. Hot." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I wouldn't know," Harry said, sounding more defensive than he would have liked. Seamus cocked an eyebrow and laughed.

"Whatever you say, Harry."

Harry felt himself start to blush. "Hey, I'm not—I mean…" This was _definitely_ coming out sounding defensive, Harry realized. "I don't like guys… like that," he finished lamely.

"Whatever you say, Harry," Seamus repeated, and then, with a mischievous grin, he leaned across the table and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. Harry blinked in shock, and Seamus winked as he pulled away and stood up.

"See you later, Harry," he said cheerfully, and walked off, leaving Harry bright red and staring open-mouthed at the air where Seamus had been.

* * *

Harry finished breakfast before any of his other friends showed up, and so he decided he might as well go for a stroll outside, and perhaps pay a visit to Hagrid. He left the castle through the main entry and started out for a slow walk across the lawn, enjoying the light morning breeze as he made his way towards Hagrid's hut. Some birds were chirping merrily in the trees, and Harry smiled.

"Wait up, Potter!" Harry's smile faded and his stomach lurched slightly. He turned around.

"You again, Malfoy? Are you stalking me or something?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he said, shifting his weight and sighing. "No, I just wanted to tell you… I think the cheering charm is finally wearing off."

"Oh," Harry replied. "That's… too bad."

"Yeah. It really is."

"Uh, Malfoy…" Harry said, "Did you, by any chance, drink some of the Draught of Clarity two days ago? Before dinner?"

Malfoy gave a rueful smile. "I'll never make _that_ mistake again, believe me."

"What do you mean?"

"It was fine with the cheering charm," he continued. "I kept figuring things out… I didn't even have to try. Everything just made _sense_. And because of the charm, I was _happy_ about all of the things I discovered. But now…" He rubbed his temple distractedly. "I still remember everything I learned… but—"

"It doesn't all seem so great anymore," Harry finished.

"Yeah."

"And you felt like telling me this because…?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You'll listen."

"Oh." It wasn't the answer Harry had been expecting.

"Actually, there _is_ more to it." Malfoy looked uncomfortable, and sighed. "Merlin, this is hard. But if I don't say it now, I never will… Okay, here goes…

"I know we've never gotten along. I always thought we were just destined to hate each other." He shifted nervously. "But one of the things the potion made me realize… I don't _really_ hate you. Maybe you hate _me_, but I don't hate you. I'm… jealous. Jealous of your fame, your popularity, your friends… everything I want, but can't have. Hell, you're even better than me at Quidditch. Don't look at me like that; you _know_ it's true.

"It may seem like a fine line, between hatred and jealousy. Until the bloody potion, I never saw the difference. But another thing I've realized is that hating you will never make the jealousy go away. I'll never get the things I want, just by being mad at you for having them…

"I'm telling you all this, because the potion _forced_ me to face these things, Harry. I can't ignore them anymore. And now… I don't know. I just don't know what to do."

Harry could hardly think. Whatever he had expected from Malfoy, it certainly was not this. He ran over Malfoy's words in his head, and all that he could manage to say was: "You called me Harry."

"Oh." Malfoy smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"Er… it's fine," Harry said. "Just you've never called me that before."

"Well, I can't remember that I've ever spilled my guts to you before, either."

"I can't imagine you spilling your guts to _anyone_," Harry observed.

"You're right. I haven't." There was a long moment of awkward silence.

"Well, I…" Harry hesitated. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… I don't know what to think. I really just don't know. I'll admit that, for the past couple of days, you've been… more agreeable than before. And I know how hard it must be for you to tell me these things…" He sighed.

"But I can't just forget the past five years… Maybe you've just been jealous, but _I've_ had plenty of reasons not to like you. You've gone out of your way to make life miserable for me, you've insulted my friends, and anyone whose blood is less than 'pure'…" Malfoy closed his eyes and hung his head.

"To be fair," Harry continued, "I haven't exactly been _nice_ to you, either. I always assumed the worst about you, and I think sometimes I've probably been right. Even now, I'm half afraid that this whole 'confession' is some sort of trick to… who knows? Earn my trust and then betray me to Voldemort? Or maybe just humiliate me in front of my friends and the school…

"Do you see what I mean? I _wish_ I could trust you. I _want_ to believe you're telling the truth. I really do. But our history is against us." He shook his head. "How can I know?"

Malfoy raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "I'm not asking for anything," he said. "Go on and hate me, if that's the way it has to be; I'm sure I deserve it. I just needed to… tell you what I told you. Today, before I lost the nerve."

Harry regarded him in silence for several moments. "And that's it?"

Malfoy gave a sad, half-hearted smile. "I hope not."

With that, he turned and headed back for the castle, and for the third time in as many days, Harry was left without words, staring after his long-time rival and feeling more torn and confused than ever.

* * *

Harry was quiet and contemplative the rest of the day. When Hermione asked what was wrong, he shrugged it off and avoided answering. Even though he was reluctant to trust Malfoy, he also didn't feel right talking about their conversation, even with Ron and Hermione. They, in turn, thought he must not be feeling well, since he was so uncharacteristically reserved. Fortunately, they eventually gave up questioning him, and gave him the space to work through his mental turmoil on his own.

Malfoy, for his part, seemed to be having a very hard time. Every time Harry saw him—even at mealtimes—he was alone and looking visibly depressed. He seemed to have stopped talking to even his housemates (though Harry couldn't imagine that it was any great loss). He also seemed to be eating less, which _couldn't_ be healthy, given his slender frame.

Harry remained torn. The noble "Gryiffindor" side of him told him that this was more than just an act—that Malfoy was really hurting, and could use some support. But the stubborn, self-preserving (Harry tried to avoid thinking of it as "_Slytherin_") side of him argued that Malfoy just couldn't be trusted. In the end, he reached the conclusion that the only way he could make up his mind would be to talk to Malfoy again—and he resolved to do so the following day, as soon as a decent opportunity presented itself.

After a reasonable night's sleep (having a plan of action had greatly eased the tumult in his head), Harry spent the next day looking out for a chance to talk to Malfoy again privately. Mealtimes were not ideal, as Harry had no intention of approaching Malfoy at the Slytherin table to request a private audience. Nor did he have any way of knowing when or where to find Malfoy during his study periods. Therefore, he pinned his hopes on their shared Potions class in the afternoon, when he might have a chance to—at the very least—arrange a meeting at a later time.

Unfortunately, this hope was dashed by a rather furious Snape, who loudly and publicly accused Harry of having stolen a vial of Veritaserum from his office the previous night. Although he had no proof (and of course, Harry hadn't done any such thing), he insisted that Harry remain after class for questioning, and the opportunity for a private word with Malfoy was lost.

At dinner that evening, Harry sat as usual with his friends, but kept a close watch on Malfoy, so that he could try to follow when he left. This fact did not escape Hermione's attention.

"Harry, why do you keep glancing over at Malfoy?"

"He's hoping that the stupid git will accidentally stab himself with his fork," Ron said, laughing.

Across the table, Seamus's eyes were twinkling. "I doubt _that_," he said, but at Harry's withering look, he kept the remainder of his thoughts to himself.

Harry chose to divert the conversation. "Could you believe Snape today? Honestly, as if I'd be stupid enough to steal one of his most valuable potions…"

"So how was the 'questioning' then, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry gave an ironic look. "I told him I didn't steal anything, but he wouldn't believe me, unless I drank Veritaserum—which had been stolen. So then he said, that must be why I stole it, and I said that it would be pretty stupid to steal a potion, so that I could get away with lying about stealing the potion… He didn't like that comment too much." His friends all laughed.

"Anyway, he said as soon as he brews a fresh batch, he's going to question me again, and I said fine. For once, I really don't know anything about it at all, so what did I care?"

"So, he didn't try using legilimency against you?" Hermione asked.

"No. Ever since our lessons last year went bad, he doesn't seem too keen on it."

Seamus stood up suddenly. "Well, I think I'll get going." He produced an unnecessarily large smile. "See you later, Harry," he said with a wink, and then, without warning, bent over and kissed Harry once again on the cheek before hurrying off. Harry instantly turned scarlet.

"Whoa. What was that about, mate?" Ron asked.

"Don't ask me," Harry said, trying his best to shrink into invisibility. "I think he just likes to embarrass me."

"Poor guy," said Hermione. "He probably has a crush on you, Harry."

Both Ron's and Harry's eyes went wide at this suggestion.

"You think so?" Harry asked nervously.

"No way!" Ron exclaimed simultaneously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If he does, just be nice to him Harry. Tell him you think he's a good guy, but you're just not interested. That's all you can do."

Harry blinked several times, and meanwhile found his eyes drifting automatically back to the Slytherin table, where—

"Bloody hell," Harry said.

"Oh Harry, it's not _that_ bad," Hermione said.

Harry stood up. "I… need to go to the bathroom," he said. "You know, emergency. See you back in the common room?" Without waiting for an answer, he dashed out into the entry hall. He looked around for Malfoy—who had vanished from the great hall—but knew that he was too late. He had no idea where Malfoy had gone, and in the embarrassment over Seamus, he hadn't noticed the blond boy leave.

"Hey, Harry!" _That_ wasn't a voice Harry had been expecting.

"Seamus?" The other boy was leaning against the banister at the bottom of the staircase.

"He went outside," Seamus said.

"Who—?"

"You _know_ who I mean." Seamus gave a half-smile. "He headed down toward the lake just a minute ago."

"Oh… thanks." Harry hesitated, wanting to get his chance to talk to Malfoy, but also feeling the need to clear the air with Seamus. He swallowed nervously.

"Seamus… I'm not sure how to say this…" Harry seemed to take a sudden interest in the tops of his shoes. "Do you… _like_ me?"

Seamus laughed. "Yeah, a bit. I mean, come on, Harry, you're… you're _you!_ Who _doesn't_ fancy Harry Potter, at least a little? But don't worry. I know a lost cause when I see it."

Harry blushed again. "A lost cause?" he asked.

"I know you're not interested in me, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said. "…I'm sorry."

Seamus laughed again. "Why? You didn't do anything. Trust me, Harry, I'll be fine." Then he nodded towards the entry doors. "I think you were looking for someone?"

"Oh. Yeah." Harry started to walk towards the great oak doors, but stopped again.

"Seamus, did you wait here just to tell me where—?"

"I don't have the _slightest_ idea what you're talking about, Harry." He turned and started up the grand staircase, but added over his shoulder: "See you later, sexy."

Watching Seamus go, Harry shook his head but smiled in spite of himself. Then he turned to head out onto the grounds to look for Malfoy, ignoring the butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach. _Nothing to be nervous about, Harry._ And he opened the great oak doors onto the crisp September night.

* * *

**So...** that's Chapter 3 for you! Sorry it's kinda a soft ending to a chapter, but 4 will be up soon, I guarantee it. Also sorry for depressed Draco... hopefully we'll get to resolve that in Ch. 4. And I really had fun writing this version of Seamus, I hope he gets to come back. :-)

**As always... reviews MORE than welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All characters and locales are based on and/or inspired by the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the above. But you already knew that. No profit or remuneration is sought or earned in this venture, only idle amusement. I thank you.

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Outside of the castle, night was falling, and a thick cloud cover blocked most of the remaining sunlight. Harry reflected sadly that there would be no stars that night, as he had always appreciated the simple beauty of the night sky. But for the moment, the pressing issue was finding Malfoy, and trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past few days.

Fortunately, his search didn't take him long. Following Seamus's advice, Harry headed straight for the lake, where he almost immediately spotted a familiar head of white-blond hair on a lonely bench near the shore. He approached quietly.

"Imagine running into you," he said.

Malfoy looked up and smiled wanly. "I hoped you'd find me."

"Oh," Harry said. "You did?"

"Yeah. I have something for you."

"You do?"

"Yes. Here." Malfoy reached into his robes and pulled out a small glass jar, handing it to Harry. Harry looked at the tiny parchment label, written in Snape's untidy scrawl. Veritaserum.

He looked up at Malfoy. "What the—? _You_ took it? And now you're giving it to me? What's this about?"

"Yesterday, you said that you couldn't trust me… and I don't blame you. So, I thought, maybe I could find a way to prove that I was telling the truth… If you want, I'll drink the potion, and you can ask me whatever you want. That way, you'll _know_ I'm not lying. You see?" Harry couldn't believe his ears.

"I know Snape thinks _you_ took it," Malfoy continued. "And it only takes a few drops for the potion to work. So, after I take a little bit, you can keep the rest, and return it to Snape tomorrow. You can let him question you—under the potion—and tell him what really happened."

At this, Harry was utterly dumbstruck. He attempted to speak, but only managed: "You— I—" and then shook his head. A sudden thought occurred to him.

_He gave me the control_, Harry thought, staring at Malfoy. _He gave it to me willingly. I have the potion. I could just walk away right now, give it to Snape, tell him what happened… There's nothing he could do…_

Harry looked Malfoy in the eyes, and his decision came easily. Silently, he held out the vial of Veritaserum, uncorked it, and very deliberately turned it over and poured its entire contents into the grass at his feet.

Malfoy panicked. "Wait! What are you doing? That was the only way for you to know if I was telling the truth!"

Harry smiled. "No, Malfoy. You're wrong. I already know."

"But…" Malfoy protested, looking extremely confused. "What about Snape? You don't want to tell him what really happened?"

Harry looked at Malfoy with intense curiosity. "I think I've seriously misjudged you, Malfoy." He smiled again. "I never thought I'd see this side of you."

Malfoy seemed to collect himself. "I told you, it was the Draught of Clarity. If you'd tried it yourself, you'd understand. You just _can't _ignore the truths you learn. And I can't live the rest of my life _lying_ to myself about… myself. I'd go crazy."

"And you discovered that you didn't hate me," Harry said.

"Yes."

"But you discovered other things, too, surely. About other people, about yourself, your friends…"

Malfoy nodded.

"So why tell me?" Harry asked. "Why not one of them?"

Malfoy snorted a short laugh. "My friends?" he said. "You probably mean Crabbe, or Goyle? Or maybe Parkinson or Zabini?" He lifted a sarcastic grin. "Would _you_ have told them?"

Harry laughed. "Well, no. I guess not."

"Exactly."

"Even so," Harry pressed, "why _me?_"

Malfoy sighed. "Because… you're the only one who'd care."

"Oh." After a moment's contemplation, Harry smirked and said: "You know, you really take this 'confession' thing seriously, don't you?"

It was Malfoy's turn to smile. "That's right, Potter. We Malfoys never do _anything_ halfway."

"Well," said Harry, "I'm flattered to have been promoted from your worst rival to your closest confidante so rapidly."

"Yeah, well… Don't let it go to your head."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"That's good. Any more of that ego and you'll go floating off into space."

"Hey!"

Malfoy shrugged. "Deny it if you want." Harry frowned, but said nothing, and Malfoy laughed.

After a moment of peaceable silence, Harry said: "Do you mind if I ask you something personal, Malfoy?"

"Why stop now?"

"Well, I was just wondering… Did the Draught of Clarity change your feelings at all towards… Voldemort?"

Malfoy's expression darkened slightly. "I wondered when you'd bring that up. And technically, the answer is 'no,' but that doesn't probably mean what you think…

"See, I've _always_ thought the Dark Lord sounded a little crazy. _More_ than a little, as a matter of fact. I also always resented the way my father idolized him, like some pathetic sycophant—and somewhere, way in the back of my brain, I knew that they were _both_… crazy. Fanatic.

"That's where the Draught of Clarity comes in, of course. Because, as you know, the potion doesn't change your feelings, or give you new ones… it only _forces_ you to face your _true_ feelings, which have been there all along—even if you didn't know it. That's both the beauty and the danger of the potion, as I found out the hard way."

"And, if you had it to do over," Harry asked, "would you take the potion again?"

Malfoy seemed to consider the question for several moments. "I don't really know," he said finally, looking at Harry. "I haven't decided yet."

"That makes sense, I guess," Harry said. And then, laughing suddenly: "You know something? This has got to be the weirdest conversation of my life. I mean, who would ever have pictured this? You and me, here. Talking about… well _talking_ at all. Can you imagine what people would think if they saw?"

"Yeah. I can see it now," he said, smiling. "The Gryffindors would try to kill me. The Slytherins would try to kill _both_ of us. Snape and McGonagall would both faint from shock, and that old coot Dumbledore would stand there with a twinkle in his eyes, looking for all the world like the whole thing had been his idea to begin with."

Harry laughed again. "That sounds about right."

"It's probably worthy of a headline in the _Daily Prophet_. 'Hogwarts Arch-Nemeses Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy on Speaking Terms!—Part of a dark plot to take over the school?—Or the last hope for the wizarding world? Rita Skeeter reports.'"

Harry had doubled over with laughter, but Malfoy wasn't done.

"The _Quibbler_ would be even better. 'Knob-Fisted Beazleworm Invasion Causes Mass Insanity at Hogwarts—Boy-Who-Lived goes off the deep end and joins _Quibbler_ editorial staff.'"

"No—stop!" Harry gasped, clutching his side. "It hurts!" It took him a full minute to calm down his fit of laugher enough to say: "Since when did you have such a sense of humor?"

"I always have," Malfoy said with a smirk. "You just didn't appreciate it as much when you were the butt of the jokes."

"Oh," said Harry, wiping his eyes. "Touché."

Malfoy smiled. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you laugh that hard, Harry."

At the sound of his name, Harry looked up. "You did it again."

"Yeah, well. That time, on purpose," Malfoy said.

"You have no idea how weird my name sounds, coming from you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Try me."

Harry returned the expression. "Fine then. Draco."

Draco laughed. "Wow, you're right. That _does_ sound weird."

"I suppose we should get used to it?"

"Well, I guess so. If we're gonna be…"

"Friends?" Harry ventured. Malfoy smiled. Then Harry furrowed his brow.

"Can I ask you just one more thing?" he said.

"Only if you stop asking whether you can ask me," Draco replied.

"Fine," Harry agreed. "I was wondering… on the night you took the potion, why did you keep telling me that your new favorite color was green?"

The smile instantly vanished from Draco's face, and he suddenly looked… almost afraid.

"Oh, no… please, Harry. Don't ask me that, not now…" His eyes were fearful and pleading. "I don't think I could take it, if…"

This intense reaction was the last thing Harry had expected. "I'm sorry, Draco," he said instinctively. "I didn't realize it was a big deal. Forget I asked."

Draco seemed to recover himself ever so slightly at Harry's words, but was still visibly upset. With great effort, he brought himself to say: "Ask me again tomorrow. I might be ready then. But let me keep tonight… _please_. I _need_ to have tonight."

Harry considered the meaning behind the words. "Are you saying that you think I'll hate you again if you tell me?" he asked. "Is it really so terrible?"

"No," Draco said. "It's nothing like that… I mean, I hope not." He sighed. "I don't think you'd understand."

Harry found himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch the other boy—to offer him some comfort. For some reason, it was tearing at his heart to see Draco's eyes so close to tears. And then, suddenly, something in his mind clicked.

_Draco's eyes. His beautiful, _silver_ eyes. My favorite…_ And all at once, Harry understood what Seamus had somehow known all along.

_Oh my God_, Harry thought. _This can't be happening. Not Malfoy. No!_ But the pieces all fell into place in his head, just as surely as if he'd taken a Draught of Clarity himself. He groaned as the full weight of his personal revelation fell about him from all sides.

"Harry?" Draco's voice sounded worried, and Harry, in spite of himself, looked up to meet Draco's eyes again.

_Those eyes_, he thought. _Those haunting eyes, I've been dreaming about them since… I don't even know when, and I _never_ thought it meant that I—_

The other piece of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind.

_Green. Green eyes. _My_ eyes. Oh my God, that can't possibly mean…_

But looking into Draco's eyes, Harry could see the truth written there, as plainly as he could see the few stray strands of platinum hair falling across that flawless face… and as Harry's stomach fell, his heart soared.

"Draco…" he whispered, savoring the feel of the cool evening breeze under the dark sky. He leaned forward slowly, gently, and before the moment could pass, he planted a soft and sweet kiss on Draco's trembling lips… and suddenly the night was full of stars.

The kiss may not have lasted long, but to Harry, it felt like an eternity of bliss. _Yes. _This_ is what I've been waiting for…_ The world around them fell away, and there was nothing but Draco; beautiful, perfect Draco: the smell of his hair and the touch of his lips… If only this moment would never end.

Reluctantly, Harry leaned away from Draco, and the world came back into focus. There, looking back at him, were those stormy eyes that he would never see in the same way again. They were wide… pleading, hopeful…

"Harry," Draco said, his voice trembling. "Please tell me that was for real… that you're not just toying with me, because…"

"Very real," Harry replied softly.

"You… you kissed me." Draco's fingers ran across his lips, as if to test that it had really happened.

"Evidently I'm full of surprises," Harry said.

Draco gave a tentative smile. Now that Harry's mind was clear, he was much more willing to admit that Draco's smile was in fact… _very_ cute.

"So, I guess you figured out what the 'green' thing was all about, then?" Draco said.

"Yeah, I guess I did." Harry smiled back.

"Until I took the potion, I never realized how I felt," Draco said. "I don't even know when it started. But as soon as I looked into your eyes that night in the corridor… They were all I could think about."

"And then you asked me what my favorite color was," Harry said.

Draco laughed lightly. "I almost _died_ when you said 'silver.' I hardly dared to hope that it could mean… but I was right, wasn't I?"

Harry grinned. "Apparently."

"At that point, I was so high on the cheering charm, I wasn't thinking very clearly. I _almost_ just blurted out that—well, you know…"

"I'm really glad you didn't," Harry said. "I mean, I _definitely_ would have freaked out. I needed time to work it out on my own." On an impulse, Harry reached out and ran his fingers through Draco's blond hair, gently massaging his head.

Draco released a contented sigh and let his head come to rest on Harry's shoulder. "It almost seems impossible, doesn't it? I feel like I'm in a dream."

"If you are," Harry said, "then it's _my_ dream. And it's been waiting a very long time for its chance, even though I never realized it."

Draco smiled, relishing the feeling of Harry's fingers in his hair. "So… what happens now?"

"Well… For one thing, those _Daily Prophet_ and _Quibbler_ headlines you mentioned are going to be a lot more sensational."

Draco laughed again. "Oh, Merlin help us if they _do_ catch word…"

"I suppose we shouldn't tell anyone?" Harry asked.

"The way I feel right now, I wouldn't care if it was written across the sky," Draco said.

"Although that wouldn't be very wise," Harry said.

"No," Draco admitted. "It wouldn't. I can think of at _least_ two people who would try to kill me if they found out."

Harry sat back, forcing Draco to sit up straight again and face him. "What?" Harry asked. "Who would try to kill you?"

"Well, first of all, the Dark Lord," Draco said. "To try to get to _you_ or make you suffer."

"That's nothing new," Harry said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Secondly…" Draco hesitated. "My father. I think he'd be pretty upset to find out his son… fancies a boy. Whether it was you or anyone else, it wouldn't matter to him."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Don't worry, Harry," Draco said. "I'm not afraid of them. Not that I _want _them to find out, mind. But I'm not afraid."

"I don't know, Draco. Maybe this isn't such a good idea…"

"No, Harry. Don't you _dare_. I know what you're thinking: that you'll be putting me at too much risk if we're together… and that's very _noble_, Harry, and apparently I _love_ that about you… But we've gotten this close, and I'm not letting you go that easily. I _won't_." There was fire in his eyes.

"So passionate," Harry said. "Although I don't think I require much persuasion, in the end. I'm really not prepared to let you go either."

Harry drew Draco close, holding him tightly in his arms as they sat in peaceful silence beside the lake. In that perfect moment, Harry felt invincible. He would have fought an entire legion of Death Eaters single-handed if it meant that the moment could last forever. As he leaned in closer and allowed himself to get lost in the silver-blond hair of his once-hated rival, Harry made a silent promise.

_I'll _never_ let you go._

* * *

**Yay!** That's Chapter 4. I hope you liked it. Right now, I am thinking that this is the end... But...

**If enough people comment and tell me they want more of this story, I'll try to keep going. ** Otherwise, it's just gonna end here with the happy, sappy, lovey-dovey ending. So if you want more, you must tell me! So far, most of the comments say to keep going... I'm _almost_ convinced.

**BTW please please review even if you think this is a good place to end the story... I crave feedback since this is my first try!**

_**And**_** thanks to my loyal readers/reviewers. You've made my day(s)!**

**Finally, Re: Beta... **I worked without a beta for this (self-edited), but I would be interested in having someone beta for me in the future. If you liked my story, and are interested, let me know. Also, I have signed up to be a beta reader for others, so if you want to try me out as a beta, also let me know. :-)

That's all. :-)

Elf


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